


Love Strikes Just As Fast

by Twiranux



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Minor Injuries, Protective Geoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twiranux/pseuds/Twiranux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As expected, Michael gets way too angry at something. This time around, the price of getting so furious is his arm getting a cut, and it's up to Geoff to calm the lad down, as well as getting him up to his stable self. The office belongs just to Michael and Geoff, the room keeping in the mutual crushes, and the moments shared between the two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Strikes Just As Fast

**Author's Note:**

> I was shooting for fluff, and narrowly avoiding smut. So I guess this is the little sliver that can go under angst, but only a little bit. My first Micheoff fic, by the way. Working up to the pros around this area, ha.

Rough and shaky hands run through the coarse bronze hair, the monitor mockingly flashing about the words “game over”. Curses and filthy remarks stockpile in the room, Michael slamming his fist down to stop the recording of his screen. He bursts toward the game, his voice louder than that of a trumpet’s noise, as he tries to leave his seat. He stops about, the burning chaos pausing in the middle of the room. One too many Rage Quit sessions flooded his systems, despite his usual control over his short temper. Luckily, he was alone in the room, as his fist balls up, his eyes teary from rage. The jersey boy huffs, walking back to his portion of the desk. Lunch is only 10 minutes away, and Michael could already taste the delicious meal that awaits. Extending his left arm, he reaches for his backpack, planning to take it with him in case it gets lost again. Discourse, however, snaps away his little fantasy, his tug at the strap interrupted by a sharp shock running down his forearm. His grasp fails, the lad stepping back a step, and his free arm rushing to the source of pain.

 

“Ahh fuck!” He hisses, a tad of blood appearing out of the scratch.

 

As he looks around the office in hopes for a cloth to wipe away with, he walks toward the office door. Michael lifts his injured limb, groaning as he turns the doorknob.

 

“Whoa, Michael, you alright?” A voice whips the air, the worrisome co worker getting closer and closer.

 

“I’m fine, really...Just need to treat this, clean it…” Michael glances toward the older man, wincing at the rush of traffic running throughout his body.

 

“Stay right here, then. I’ll get the first aid in the bathroom for ya.” Geoff speeds off, before Michael could think of a response.

 

Michael sighs, looking directly at the officemates across him. Jack and Ray are conversing nonchalantly, before turning towards him.

 

“Oh, that looks bad,” Ray remarks, taking a gulp of water.

 

“We’ll get a “Get Better Soon” card for you,” Jack snickers, giving a thumbs-up.

 

Ray huffs, then nudges Jack with his shoulders. The two clear their throats, and Michael raises a brow.

 

“Ah, well, thanks anyways I gue--”

 

“Here, I got it, buddy!” Geoff rushes toward Michael, in his hands was a vibrant red box, the familiar white cross printed onto it.

 

The mustached man directs the freckled male back into the office, closing the door behind them. Michael sits on white couch, preferring the right armrest, while Geoff takes up the other half, placing the kit on his lap. His thumbs pop open the tabs, reaching for the neatly wrapped up gauze, scissors, and a cloth from within. Geoff tucks away the kit under the couch, Michael’s eyes following the seemingly alive tattoos stretching about Geoff’s appendages.

 

“You’re not going to get the rubbing alcohol?” Michael leans over, leveling himself over the hunched man.

 

“Warm water is better for the scar.” Geoff brings himself up, retrieving a thermos mug from the pocket of his hoodie.

 

“You just know it all, don’t ya?” the younger boy sneers, as Geoff damps the soft fabric.

 

“Give me your arm, dickhead,” Geoff shoots back, Michael giving into the smug man’s order.

 

The injured lad flinches as a tattooed hand presses at the scratch. Small splashes of red transfer over to the cloth Geoff wiping the cut clean. Michael exhales deeply, his anger slowly draining away, as Geoff traces over the faint mark again and again. The mustache twitches as a slight frown appears. His secret crush had gotten hurt, and it pained Geoff to realize this.

 

“How’d this happen in the first place?” Geoff inquires, carefully wrapping the gauze around Michael’s forearm.

 

“I...I lost my temper, that’s all.”

 

“Of-fucking-course...I wouldn't’ have pinned it on anything else,” Geoff mutters to himself, finishing off his work. “There we go.”

 

“Thanks, it feels much better…” Michael taps at the well-closed up area, reassuring himself. Geoff cuts up the gauze at the right spot, then reaches for the first aid. He packs away the supplies, placing the used rag on top of the box.

 

“No problem, bud.” Geoff pats Michael on the back, sneakily leaving his hand there on the last pat.

 

“I wish I didn’t get so pissed, I honestly thought I had my temper by the balls...” Michael trails off, turning to Geoff. “Would’ve saved me a bunch of time, and yours… And my plans for today too--fuck…”

 

“What is it now, Michael?” Geoff sighs wearily, his eyes looking past the glare of Michael’s glasses, and meeting the hazel eyes behind the lenses.

 

Geoff’s heart churns, the sad look on Michael too much to handle, despite how small the issue really was. He couldn’t bare to see a moment of his precious whiny baby so down.

 

“I have no way to go to the place I wanted to eat at. And I betcha just had your shit delivered, yeah?”

 

Geoff’s mouth opens, but he chokes back his voice, thinking twice about his response. He double-checks his thoughts, making sure it wouldn’t piss off Michael. Anything but to blow a fuse, and mess up this moment.

 

“Got me there. But it ain’t the end of the world. I ordered pizza, and I think you can tolerate that, can’t ya?” Geoff manages to cough out, his hand working up into Michael’s curly hair. He twirls and plays with the unfamiliar texture, his thumb and index exploring a strand.

 

“I promise ya I’ll drive you to that place tomorrow, and maybe pay for it if you really are butthurt over it,” Geoff continues, a reassuring smile forming.

 

“Fine, fine.” Michael lays back onto the couch, Geoff’s hand digging deeper into Michael’s hair. Geoff flusters, his heart feeling sheepish, while Michael sighs, unsure of how to pin down his feeling. It’s as if Geoff cleared the fog, the room becoming totally serene.

 

“Y’know Geoff, I never can get myself mad with you around, it’s rather fucking weird,” Michael admits before tensing up once more, his left arm still pulsing out waves of pain.

 

“Then maybe I should supervise you whenever you record Rage Quit, you big baby,” Geoff snickers, his eyebrow rising and falling, clicking with his tongue.  
  
“Shut up,” Michael only managing to sigh, his temper disappearing as fast as it rises.

 

He could never dare to get angry at Geoff, the calm essence breaking down his persona he’s lived as for years. And yet, the part of that is dying to speak his appreciation for Geoff, never catalyzes, never breaking free from the silence. The thought of admitting to a cliché crush made Michael get goosebumps and choke up.

 

A sudden rattle causes Geoff to retreat his hand from Michael’s vicinity, Michael pouting slightly at Geoff’s reaction. Geoff stands, unlocking and opening the door.

 

“Geoff, there you are. Uh...why is the door locked?” a gruff voice resonates.

 

“I’m a little busy.” Geoff retracts, his expressions drawing towards apologetic, before closing the door in front of Ryan.

 

“What’s happening with Geoff? Did I do something?” Ryan directs his voice to Jack and Ray, still standing across the office door.

 

“It’s not you, Ryan. Geoff’s...uh...ahem...busy trying to hook up with Michael right now,” Jack replies in a hushed tone.

 

“Wait, what?” Ryan walks closer, staring at the two.

 

“Well, yeah. Geoff was over there by the door, and Michael came out,” Ray points toward the location of where the scene happened. “But instead of having a simple “Oh hey, I like you” sort of chat, Michael had this scratch on his arm.” He then traces the vague area of the mark on his own arm.

 

“You’re telling me this was staged?”

 

“Oh, no. Michael getting a scratch was not intended. Who knows what’s actually happening in there,” Jack shrugs.

 

“I don’t want to think about that sorta stuff, guys. Let’s just...not.” Ryan gestures for all of them to shoo off, and come back later.

 

“Uh, actually, there is a bet going on, so, we kind of don’t want to leave,” Ray counter argues, with Jack fixing his glasses in embarrassment.

 

“Bet on...what exactly?” Ryan ponders, his eyebrows unsure whether to rise from curiosity or fall from disappointment.

 

“Ray and I bet 30 bucks whether Geoff was going to successfully do one of the tasks we set up for him,” Jack mutters regretfully.

 

“Which is?”

 

“They either do-the-do, and we take their word for it, switch clothes and/or pants, or have an acceptable level of “I had sex just this now” hair,” Ray counts off with his fingers. “I really think they would.”

 

“I really don’t see that, personally. Just...it was Ray’s idea,” Jack includes, his whole figure shivering slightly.

 

“That’s quite some...tasks, guys...” Ryan brings his hand to rub against his cheek.

 

“What about you, Ryan? Do you think they will do one of those, or not?” Ray inquires, the line of privacy invisible to him.

 

“...Without a doubt, but I really don’t want to be here to confirm my bet.” Ryan waves goodbye, separating from the small group.

 

As the remaining two gossip outside, Michael and Geoff wore the face of satisfaction, periodically turning towards each other, exchanging stares more than a couple fallen madly in love.

 

“So fucking funny, that was amazing,” Michael blurts out, the laughter far from contained.

 

“I know, right? Holy shit,” Geoff covers his wide grin with his free hand, failing to hide an obvious voice crack.

 

“This fucking pizza is taking forever, damn,” Michael whines, no longer distracted, slapping his hands onto his thighs, his stomach aching and grumbling loudly.

 

“Don’t worry too much ‘bout it, it’ll be here soon enough,” Geoff taps at his phone, searching for more entertainment for Michael.

 

As he brings up the video and directs Michael’s attention to it, Geoff analyzes Michael’s expressions; his eyes relaxed, grin growing, shoulders unwound. Yet, Michael hums dully, the sharp contrast of his tone to his expressions too rough to ignore. Geoff’s heart pounds, the thumping rattling his insides, as he brings himself closer. He yearns for a better solution to Michael’s woes, and only one thing comes into mind. He could kiss Michael.

 

“Geoff?” Michael catches the break in personal space, as Geoff pauses his movement.  
  
“Y...yeah?”

 

“Thanks for all this,” Michael confesses once more.

 

“No probl--”

 

Michael then closes the gap between him and Geoff, his eyes closing, their lips crashing together, the mustache tickling Michael’s nose. Geoff’s eyes bug out for a second, trying to understand how impossibly comforting the moment feels, yet a bit of anger pops in. Michael made the first move, not him. The thought quickly fades away, however; the feeling of fireworks constantly firing off rush throughout his body, the voice in his head congratulating instead of accusing. His eyes soon shut, his hand working its way back into Michael’s hair. Michael tugs at Geoff’s hoodie, as if they could get any closer than already could. With a confident smirk, Geoff gently nibbles on Michael’s lower lip, a quiet groan escaping from the younger.

 

“You’re not that bad,” Michael finally parts, his thumb tracing along Geoff’s jaw, the rough hairs tickling Michael.

 

“Same goes for you,” Geoff chuckles, before planting another kiss on Michael’s lips.

 

“Jesus, Geoff, I was so fucking scared of admitting to this, and now here we are…making out.”

 

“At least we got it out of our system, now,” Geoff reassures, as Michael beams in response. Finally, the word was out. The pigeons could fly in and the petals could fall down, and all it took was a scratch on an arm.

 

Another session of loud knocking snaps the two out of their zone, as this time, Michael answers.

 

“What?” He demands at the cock-blocker.

 

“Geoff’s pizza is here,” Ryan answers, the door completely opening. Geoff walks up next to Michael, pulling at Michael’s shirt, a gesture to withdraw from starting a fight.

 

“Aha! In your face, Ray! You owe me thirty bucks!” Jack bursts, pointing fingers at the lad he challenged earlier.

 

“The fuck, Jack?” Michael turns to Geoff, his reply a shrug and confused look.

 

“They only helped me get courage to pretty much accept how I like you, that’s it, I swear,” Geoff reassures.

 

Michael’s breath stabilizes, his grip on the door loosening, as Geoff politely signals Ryan to head off. Ryan nods, then bids the other four farewell.

 

“I guess I was wrong too,” Ryan speaks up, before leaving the area once again.

 

“Did you guys bet on something about Geoff and I?” Michael barks, hushing down the chatter between Ray and Jack.

 

“Uh…Yes, now bye!” Ray runs off, throwing paper money toward Jack’s general direction. Jack shakes his head, as Geoff assuredly slings his arm around Michael. Michael rests his head on Geoff’s shoulder, with Jack supporting the two with amusing golf-claps and hoots.

 

 


End file.
